


and if i died

by motheyes



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Wilbur Soot, Pain, Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), all i know is bread, dream may seem one dimensionally evil but i PROMISE he has character motivations guys i swear, rip to this being canon but i'm different, sorry fellas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28236612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motheyes/pseuds/motheyes
Summary: Ghostbur melts in the rain, and Dream is a petty, spiteful creature.What happens when he decides Ghostbur isn't useful enough to keep around anymore?
Relationships: More to be added - Relationship, No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Comments: 17
Kudos: 145





	and if i died

**Author's Note:**

> usual disclaimer: this is about the characters from the roleplay on the smp, not about the actual people!! if i learn this violates boundaries it's getting yeeted.
> 
> so uh. this is a slightly different ride from my usual fics. this is gonna be hurt/no comfort (at least as far as i'm planning rn, could change). so uh... turn back now? it is pain.
> 
> title is from "back to life" by mother mother. i know it's a small lyrical clip but it's got a VIBE ok the song VIBES w this fic
> 
> i hope you enjoy i wrote this in a fevered haze and am posting it on the edge of that haze... if you see a mistake, no you didn't <3

“Technoblade needs your help,” Dream says, looming tall in the sewer-house’s doorway. He hadn’t bothered to knock.

Across from him, Ghostbur looks up from his books. “What?” he asks, in that breathy-echoey-sad-but-happy tone he’s permanently adopted. (It grates on Dream’s nerves, truthfully, although that’s a matter for another time.)

“Technoblade needs your help,” he repeats, and this time, he thinks he does a better job of putting that fake-urgency in his voice. “There’s no time to explain - go to these coordinates."

The coordinates in question are written on a thin scrap of paper that Dream presses into Ghostbur’s hands. He wrinkles his nose as their hands touch - Ghostbur’s skin is such a _weird_ consistency, like a non-Newtonian fluid, liquid and solid at the same time. If Dream pulls back a bit too quickly, if he shakes his hands out subtly by his hips, he doesn’t think Ghostbur notices.

No, instead, Ghostbur is staring at the paper with wide, worried eyes, glassy and blank and sad. “What’s - what’s going on? Is he alright?” Those doe eyes get turned up onto Dream. They’re so… expressive. Dream can read every nuance of every emotion on Ghostbur’s face, just like that. It almost makes him feel secondhand embarrassment.

Dream shrugs. “I have no idea - he wasn’t doing so well when I saw him, though. You had better hurry. I don’t know how long he can last on his own.” 

Thankfully, pitifully, Ghostbur buys it without question.

“I… Thank you, Dream,” he says, the echoes so strong that he sounds like he’s underwater. “I - I need to go.” His transparent fingers clench around the paper, and Dream ducks to the side as Ghostbur darts out of his house.

Dream waits for a minute, until he can’t hear the faint whistling of Ghostbur’s movements, and then he lets a smile creep over his face.

Prime, that was easy.

* * *

Ghostbur hasn’t felt any sort of physical sensation since a long, long time ago, since the time-he-doesn’t-like-to-remember.

Now, though, his feet hurt.

They beat against the snowy ground - he’s moving too quickly to bother with floating above it, like he usually does on his way to Technoblade’s house. The snow doesn’t quite melt into water against his skin - he’s too cold for that - but it hurts all the same, burning, aching, pain. 

It’s like getting a blister; he remembers those, just barely. He remembers having a blister on the side of his finger from playing guitar for too long. He remembers staring down at his hands, covered in dirt and ash and gloves that rubbed against his skin when he did too much… when he… 

He doesn’t remember that part.

It’s not important, though.

What’s important is the snow seeping through his Converse. What’s important is Technoblade, who’s somewhere near the coordinates hidden in the middle of this tundra.

Ghostbur doesn’t know what’s going on, and while that’s nothing new, this time it’s _scary_. His twin is fighting - struggling - dying? in the cold and ice, and Dream’s said that Ghostbur’s the only one who can help. Things must be dire, if _he’s_ all that Techno’s got left.

He thanks everything that he always wears the same yellow long-sleeved sweater, the same red beanie. There are painful, transparent spots across his hands, and he knows his cheeks and nose must look the same, but at least his arms are shielded from the cruel, biting snow.

“Techno!” he calls, and his voice is lost to the howling wind. “Techno!”

It’s a risk to slow down, to check the paper still clenched in his fist - every second lost is a second that could leave Techno bleeding-dying-dead on the ground. Ghostbur does it anyway, doing his best to keep the pace up. He’s close to the coordinates - he’s _very_ close, actually, almost on top of them.

There’s no sign of pink or red among the white, white snow.

“Techno?” His voice is weak, now, swallowed by its own echoes until it’s barely more than a whisper. 

Ghostbur slows to a stop. He’s right on top of the numbers scrawled across the page.

There’s nobody there.

Frantically, he spins in a circle, trying to spot something, anything - is there a golden crown lying on the ground? Is there a shock of pink hair that he’s somehow managed to miss? Is there a pale hand sticking out of the snow, the rest of the body buried completely?

The answer is nothing, nothing, nothing. He brings up a hand to scrub at his face, huddling deeper into his sweater. It’s just white and cold and _Ghostbur’s feet hurt_ and _where’s Techno? Where’s Tommy? Where’s Dad?_

His hand falls away from his face and - wait. He stops, staring at it.

Ghostbur’s fingers are dripping, oozing, melting. Frantically, he looks down, pulling his sweater away from his body with his almost-completely-invisible hands. His clothes aren’t bearing much better - the yellow is starting to drip down onto his black pants, onto the ground below his feet.

He - he’d thought he’d have more time. Had he really been out in the snow for that long…?

Faintly, Ghostbur collapses to his knees, his legs unable to hold him up anymore. That doesn’t help things; the icy pain creeps up his thighs, now, and into his torso, and up his neck, and he is _so cold, so cold._

His hands shake, and he grabs at his biceps. 

Not yet, surely. Not yet. He still has so much he has to do - L’Manburg is rebuilt, but his family isn’t. Tommy and Tubbo are both so, so lost. Techno and Phil need - he thinks (hopes) Techno and Phil need him.

You pay for what you’ve broken. You clean up what you’ve shattered. That’s what Ghostbur lives (dies?) by.

He risks a glance down. The snow is stained yellow and red and black and brown. It hurts. He’s cold.

 _I am going to miss you all,_ he thinks to noone, and then he’s gone.

(Over the side of the nearest hill, completely unnoticeable except for a few stray potion bubbles, Dream grins.)


End file.
